Mello laid in bed. The day before he spent puking his guts out and now he just needed to rest it off. "Ugh. I hate being so damn weak."
"Can't help it." Mello's trusty dog was by his side, like he always was. "Everyone would feel weak after what you went through."
"Even Chuck Norris?" The blonde was sick, but he was never sick enough to not share his sarcasm with the world.
Matt couldn't help but chuckle at the question. "Well, sorry Mels. You've got nothing on that guy. He's a fucking beast." Matt leaned over and kissed Mello on the cheek. "But I bet you won't feel as weak if you got some sleep, hm?"
"Yeah, yeah." Eyes slowly closed as dreams about epic battles between Mother Nature and Chuck Norris played in a mafia boss' head.
Why yes, this is quite short.
Oh, dang. At first I put 'flippin' beast' and then lold.